Beccon Hills Drabbles
by Bookbearer
Summary: All the ships have sailed! Scallison, Skira, Scissac, Dethan, Pydia, Sterek-and much more! We can't POSSIBLY hold all these down. But in this book you can. All these Teen Wolf ships wrap into one book, a collection of drabbles, and it is endless. Don't like an ending in the show? This book changes it into what you expect it to be. Go ahead. Open the book. You'll be up for hours..
1. Chapter 1

_Welcome to a New Series of Sterek (Teenwolf) Drabbles! _

_Here's basically how this works: _

_I accepts works from other writers, and include it in this book of Sterek Drabbles._

_I noticed lately that there weren't many sterek fanfictions on fanfiction, so I decided to start a book on it, and just see how many stories I and everyone else could come up with. I also grab fanfictions from Tumblr, so if you see a familiar looking story, just know I grab a variety of stories from a variety of sources...except when I sign my name. _

_That's when I write that one. _

_SO, that's basically how this story book will go, but you know, Sterek wont be the only ship included in this book, they're will be more like Scallison, Stydia, Pydia, Sciles(bromance), Scissac, Dethan, SheriffxMelissa, ect. If you want to see a specific ship with a particular setting, just comment below and I'll get started on it. _

_Okay?_

_Okay. _

_That's it for now. BUT REMEMBER; this book contains a variety of ratings. Some can be Rated: T, while others could be Rated: M, for mature audiences. I'll explain ahead of time, and I'll warn you if there is a certain content rating, but other then that, it should be fine. Although I suggest you always have a box of tissues nearby. You never know when a sad part will rip your heart out. (I'm like that haha.) _

_Enjoy the book! _

_-BookBearer_


	2. Chapter 2

_This is the very first Sterek Drabble of the series...I'm starting you guys off right, now. This is kinda sad..._

_Haha, anyways. Got this off of tumblr, a friend of my wrote it and I decided to put it in. Oh and I'm accepting requests on what you guys would like to see more of, like topics and stuff; sad, happy, pups, Mature Content, Christmas, Halloween, ect. .Just comment below. Thanks. _

_-BookBearer_

* * *

><p><em>Game Time<em>

* * *

><p>They're staring at each other across the narrow table, the silver gun still spinning sickly between them. The hunter had placed it there with a laugh and a twist of his wrist, a dark parody of spin the bottle. It's an old-fashioned, single-action revolver, probably chosen more for dramatic effect than necessity if the rest of the hunters' arsenal is anything to go by. The rest of their arsenal is impressive.<p>

…One of them is going to die.

"I could just pick it up and empty it into your chest," Stiles grits, gaze flitting from Derek to the hunter. But his eyes are on the assault rifle in the man's hand. The man shrugs, clearly unconcerned.

"One in six chance you'll get me before I get you. Best odds of the night. Wouldn't you rather save that for you or your freak boyfriend?"

"He's not my—" But the hunter isn't listening. The door opens and the two men that had helped snatch them back in town enter, and Stiles can't help feeling like they'd missed their only chance. Their only chance.

One of them is going to die.

* * *

><p>The gun slows to a stop, barrel hovering uncertainly between them.<p>

"The rules to the game are simple. One bullet, six chances. You pick it up and take turns pulling that trigger on the other man, or we gun you both down right now. You play along, only one of you has to die. Fun game, huh?"

"There are always options. Derek, tell me there are options." Three hunters, spaced out across the room, armed with rapidfire, high-powered weapons. One potential bullet on their side, and a vulnerable human in the crossfire.

"The option is you shoot me."

Stiles breath rattles out, sharp and angry. "Or you shoot me."

Derek's gaze falls away.

Stiles is staring at Derek, taking in the lines and shadows of his face with unnerving focus. Derek looks down, eyes going across the chipped wooden tabletop to the gun.

"All the times I joked about shooting you in the face…" Stiles' voice rattles out too high, too thin. His palms are pressed-flat and white on the table, a sharp contrast to the dark wood. Derek's own hand goes out, drifting along the uneven surface, and stops halfway between Stiles and the gun. Stiles tracks the movement, a soft sound dragging from his throat.

And then…

"One in six, huh?"

His hands both move at once, the left one going out to grab Derek's, squeezing tightly. The other has the gun a second later, cocking back the hammer, pressing the barrel to Derek's forehead and squeezing the trigger. It clicks out empty, and Stiles' resolved expression lasts for about half a second before it crumples with a raw sob. He slumps in his chair, the gun slipping from his hand. His pale skin has broken out in a feverish sweat, and the air is sour with fear, disgust, relief.

"Fuck… thank… god…"

Derek hadn't had time to react. Hadn't had time to so much as think before he'd felt the cool metal against him. The world seems strangely distant in the aftermath, his eyes wavering along the lines of the dropped gun, going slowly up to Stiles' face.

And Stiles is watching him, pale and wrecked, relieved and horrified. "Sorry, I… just… best odds, I wanted…"

He's scrabbling suddenly until Derek's hand is grasped in both of his, not calming until Derek jolts into motion a few seconds late, squeezing back.

"You're an idiot." His own voice comes out rough. He's not sure if his own words are meant for Stiles or himself. And then, more steadily: "You should shoot again."

Stiles flinches, eyes wide and damp. "No. What the hell? That's not how this goes."

"They're hunters, Stiles. Of the two of us, who do you think they really want dead?"

Stiles winces a second before a warning bullet kicks up cement by Derek's feet.

"How about you play by the rules, wolf? Or we shoot you both right now." The empty air feels too charged around him. Derek contemplates just letting it happen, just refusing, or turning to attack and letting the hunters' bullets riddle him. But that will get Stiles killed too. If he plays along, one of them might survive. If he plays along, Stiles has a chance.

Or he'll be killing Stiles with his own hands.

Stiles is folding the gun into his hand, eyes steady even as his hands shake. "Derek, it's ok."

It's not ok. It's not vaguely.

It just gets worse when Stiles pulls his hand gently upward and brushes his lips along Derek's knuckles. The touch comes and goes like a riptide, tearing Derek from his fragile illusion of control. Stiles' eyes tug him in. Stiles' eyes… one way or another he won't be seeing them much longer. "I can't."

Stiles' attention flits to the hunters. His lips tremble, press together. "Would you rather I do it to myself? 'Cause I have a feeling they won't like us not playing along, so if you don't I will. I'll empty the whole barrel into my skull, Derek. And then what'll they do?"

Derek's grip on the gun tightens as Stiles tries to pull it back, teeth baring, a warning growl dragging from his throat. Stiles smiles, wet and wavering and so goddamn brave. "There you are, sourwolf. Ok. Ok, do it, ok? Just… don't draw it out 'cause I'm already freaking the hell—"

Derek's surging across the table and slamming their lips together before either of them can think about it. Stiles whimpers, riding the adrenaline high into a frantic slide of lips and tongues and last chance. Last chance ever. Derek savors the slide of skin and the bump of crashing teeth, the taste and scent of Stiles so close, closer than he'd ever realized he wanted. But he wanted, wanted so badly and he'd been enough of a stubborn, blind idiot to never realize it until he knew he'd never have it.

He waits until he can tell Stiles is lost deep in the motions, some of the tension loosening out of his shoulders and little, hungry sounds dragging up his throat, before he cocks the gun, puts it to Stiles' temple, and pulls the trigger.

Stiles jolts back, breaths shuddering out loud and eyes squeezed so tightly shut. Derek's finger goes to brush his cheek and Stiles flinches. "I'm sorry, I just…"

"Yeah, I get it."

Stiles' eyes open but they stay fixed on the table. "That was good. Good distraction technique."

Derek slides back into his chair, the gun heavy in his hand.

"It wasn't just a distraction."

Stiles' eyes do come up at that. They hold Derek's for too long, filled with too many emotions, before he murmurs "Good goodbye then."

There's a disgusted snort from somewhere behind Derek, and Stiles' eyes flit, charged and furious, to its source. "You're all insane, by the way. Just so you know. Is this really how you get your kicks? Got bored killing people the usual way so you… what, started coming up with ways to force them to kill each other?"

Derek doesn't see the hunters' faces, can't take his eyes off Stiles for a second. But he hears the laughter in the answering voice.

"Just playing by the rules, kid. Want a wolf dead around Beacon Hills, gotta make sure he's breaking the code first. All official like. It's a real bitch to go following them around though, waiting for them to show their true nature. We're just being a little proactive about it."

Derek's hand feels wrong on the clammy metal of the gun, his claws itching to come surging out.

Stiles is openly gaping at the hunters. "Fuck, I was right. Completely insane. Forcing us to kill each other won't make you any less guilty in the eyes of any sane hunter. This is a clear violation of the code. Argent's not gonna let this go."

"Argent's gone soft, sure. But he won't have a leg to stand on when it comes to the facts. Either you shoot your wolf pal and our problem's been solved by an outsider, or he shoots you and we get free rein to do what needs doing."

The gun finally falls from Derek's hand.

"Then let him shoot me. Just shoot me. The human solves your problem and lives."

Stiles' hand is on Derek's again, gripping hard, expression screwing up angrily. The man to Derek's left snorts.

"Right, let's go easy on the sympathizer. He's lucky we're giving him fifty-fifty odds." By their own twisted code, Stiles and Derek are safe until one of them has killed the other. But he knows they won't get off that easily. They've already seen they can't leave, that they can be held against their will. Derek's still healing from a bullet he'd taken in the shoulder when they'd been attacked, and Stiles' pale skin is probably bruising dark under his clothes from the punches he'd taken.

Maybe they're not willing to kill, but Derek has no doubt they're willing to beat, abuse, torture.

"It's your turn," he breathes. Stiles hand shakes as it goes for the gun.

Derek steadies his breathing, tries to prepare for it this time. "It's ok, Stiles. We both know I'm not getting out of here. I hope it's me."

"Shut up."

"No." He needs Stiles to know this. He needs him to understand. He needs to know that Stiles isn't going to be left behind, wallowing in guilt over things that aren't his fault.

"I hope it's me, I hope you survive. I'm not getting out of this; you can. It might be your finger pulling the trigger but this isn't, in any way, your fault."

Stiles is drinking in his words, gasping back sobs, loud and wet through clenched teeth. He cocks the gun, head tilting, fast and wet and pleading, with all the things he can't say.

He pulls the trigger and Derek hates the quiet click that follows.

Stiles doesn't collapse this time, just squeezes his eyes shut for a long moment, mouth gaping soundlessly. Derek can't decipher the expression, can't do anything but track the line of a fat tear rolling down Stiles' cheek.

The gun passes to him.

Stiles drags his hand up, kissing the knuckles around the silver handle, and then lets go, steadying himself. He sits still and strong despite the terror screaming through his scent.

The gun feels wrong in Derek's hand, and he aches to spin in his chair and use the weapon of the hunters against them. Shoot one of them, hopefully. Hopefully Stiles would know to duck for cover. Hopefully he'd be able to at least wound his captors before he was taken down.

But Stiles has a one-in-three chance right now. He'll have none if Derek decides to fight back. So he lifts the gun, cocks it, and pulls the trigger.

Stiles flinches, full bodied, at the sound of the soft click. His expression flashing from relief to agony in an instant. And the gun goes back to Stiles. Stiles stares down at it for a long moment before his eyes go back up to Derek. They're too wide, too soft. Derek has never seen him look so young.

"Fifty-fifty," he breathes. One shot left for each of them.

If he survives the next attempt, Derek will attack the hunters. No matter how hopeless it might be, it'll be better than firing at Stiles knowing the bullet's waiting for him.

Going down in a fury of gunfire or a bullet to the forehead. These are his options now.

Stiles lifts the gun and says "I might be in love with you." Derek can't answer, can't find any words, and Stiles cocks the gun.

Derek hears the bullet chamber. It's a different kind of sound, more solid than the hollow clicks of the first four tries.

He feels something in his chest loosen. The hunters won't have the satisfaction of killing him themselves. Stiles won't have to die.

His lips twitch in a faint smile.

"You too."

Stiles' eyes soften searching the planes and angles of Derek's face. He draws Derek's knuckles to his lips with his free hand, and breathes three simple words, just soft enough for a wolf to hear. And then he pulls the trigger.

"_Trust me, Derek_."

* * *

><p>Derek slumps slowly, sliding from his chair and hitting the ground in a heap.<p>

Stiles collapses against the table, just as limp, just as listless, the only difference between them being the raw sobs dragging up Stiles' throat.

The hunters hoot and cheer, congratulating each other on a hunt well played. Two of them make their way to Derek, kicking at his lifeless form, while the other shuffles around the table to grab Stiles by the nape, hoisting him up.

"Lucky day, kid."

Stiles lets himself be dragged upward, empty gun loose in his grip, his eyes going to where Derek lies face down in the cement. One of the hunters is leaning down to grab him, haul him upward. They're talking about taking pictures, promoting their kill to other hunters.

They're turning, laughing at each other, when Derek bursts into motion, sharp claws tearing at the man's throat.

Stiles is moving the second he sees Derek twitch, head slamming backward to catch the hunter in the nose, twisting out of his grip and slamming the butt of the gun over and over again into his temple.

When he finally feels the man go still he twists the assault rifle out of his limp hands and spins back toward the fray…

And finds himself aiming a gun at a bloody, clawed and fang-toothed Derek standing over the corpses of two hunters.

The gun falls from his suddenly shaking hands and then Derek is hugging him, his claws retreating, hands sliding up Stiles' sides, his nape, his cheeks, like he was the one that had just fake gotten shot.

Stiles' breaths are shuddering out against his neck. He's honestly not sure if he's laughing or sobbing. "You looked, I knew, but you looked… Good acting, Derek. Glad you got my message."

"Firing about a centimeter above my head, lifting your hand like it was a recoil. Pretty clear sign." But Derek's shaking too, sounds pleased as he clutches Stiles close. "That was smart."

"Better than all the 'let him shoot me, shoot me' crap you were pulling." Stiles pulls back far enough to punch Derek's shoulder, hard. His fist probably feels it more than Derek's arm.

"No more martyr-Derek, ok? If we're dating now, that's rule one."

Derek eyes him quietly, blood spattered across his cheeks, blue sparking in his eyes.

"Are we dating now?"

"Well, duh, dude. We've been in how many near death situations? And how many people do you randomly make out with during them?" He doesn't mention the panic-induced love confessions. It's way too soon for those. But Derek's eyes go soft and fond, Stiles thinks maybe he's remembering them anyway.

Stiles' thumb trails slowly across Derek's forehead where the silver of the pistol had rested too many times.

"You and me together, Wolfman. We'll always find another way."

* * *

><p><em>Just kidding. <em>

_Derek DIDN'T die. _

_Gotcha there for a second. ;)_

_But there was a cute little ending to it, eh? That makes it up for scaring you guys._

_ANYWAYS. _

_Comment below what themes or things you want to see in the story, and it might just be included in the next drabble. _

_Thanks again and until next time!_

_-BookBearer_


	3. Chapter 3

Here comes another short story, it's not that long, but I guess it'll do. By the way; for my other stories, they ARE in progress. I've been getting a lot of PM's asking me if I discontinued the stories, or just plain out not finishing them. That is FALSE. I promise I will have most done by-hopefully-Sunday.

Just...stay with me guys. Thanks!

-BookBearer

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><p><em>Car-Rides<em>

* * *

><p>"Can't freaking believe you!"<p>

"Stiles, shut up and let me concentrate!"

"Stole Bela Talbot's car—"

"That was not Bela Talbot, Stiles, she's fucking fictional, and she was never a demon!"

"Ha! I knew you got the references!"

"Yes, remind me again how the one about shotgun shutting his cakehole goes?"

"Sam never listens to that!"

"And, everyone always ends up dead!"

"How dare you!"

Derek growls, shoves the gear stick into fourth, and the car grates ominously.

"At least Dean can drive stick," Stiles snarks.

"God dammit," Derek puts his foot down on the gas, and Stiles throws his arms out wide.

"Dude, okay! No more pop culture, just— it's snowing, Derek!"

After a moment of smirking manically, Derek slows, turns to grin sharply at Stiles, "I was under control."

"You can't control the weather," Stiles huffs, heartbeat calming now they're away from the damn cursed diner. "Jesus," he scowls, punches the heater in the console, "This has got to be the worst first date ever, chased by a crazy demon, covered in the black goo of said demon's insides, and my date didn't even put out! God."

There's a silence, and he stares out of the window, glaring moodily at the snow falling. It would be pretty if he wasn't still half in shock from the attack. They've not had trouble in over a year; his dad's hair is starting to grow back— grey, sure— but it's still actually growing rather than falling out; Scott and Allison were discussing curtain fabric choices at their last pack dinner; Derek and Stiles take naps. Together.

"Maybe he will later," Derek muses into the quiet.

Stiles cuts a glance at him, messes with his sweater sleeves, "Yeah?"

Derek shrugs, shoots him a slightly crooked, slightly fond smile, "Maybe."

Stiles hums, suddenly a lot warmer despite the frosty cold weather and then spots a deer in the road, "Shit, Derek, look out!"

Derek curses, swerves the car to avoid the deer, and they tailspin across the icy road. Derek's arm flies out across Stiles' chest just as Stiles does the same to Derek, and they smack into the snow pile at the side of the road with a sharp thud.

Stiles' ears are ringing, his bottom lip bleeding, but as he takes a mental check of his limbs they all seem intact and okay. Derek, however, fucking shit, Derek's got his eyes closed, neck at a funny angle. Stiles' heart stops. Panic freezes him for a moment, and then he reaches across to clamour at Derek's shoulder.

"Derek," he croaks, rubs clumsily at Derek's chest. "Derek, c'mon, man. 'Took me seven years to ask you out, you can't die on our first date. It will officially be the worst first date ever, then. I didn't mean it, alright? It was going really well until that bitch rocked in, interrupting your awkward flirtin' with your lame cute footsie and everything—" he rubs his knuckles harder against Derek's sternum. "Please, come on—"

Derek groans loud and wet and gross sounding.

"That's good," Stiles tells him, clutches at his collar, "Open your eyes for me, your fucking beautiful eyes, c'monnnn."

"Y'think I have beautiful eyes?"

Stiles rolls his eyes, laughs raggedly, "That's what you chose to focus on?"

Derek grunts, "Would you rather I focus on the agonising pain of healing?"

"Oh, no," Stiles wets his lips, drags his hand through Derek's hair. It's sweaty and bloody and honestly kind of gross, but he's alive, and he's warm to the touch. "I can distract you."

"Mhm," Derek closes his eyes again, "Yeah, so, first date's a write off, huh."

"For sure," Stiles clambers across the console gingerly, checks Derek's arms and sides, stills when Derek's hands catch his hips.

"I'm fine, Stiles, I just need a minute."

"You scared the shit out of me," Stiles breathes out quietly.

"Yeah?" Derek gives him a weak smile, "Well, we're even cos when that demon was coming at you—"

"Well, you got Bela Talbot good, dude. Right in the face."

"It wasn't Bela Talbot," Derek winces, shifts a little in his seat.

"Keep still!"

"You're not the boss of me."

"I will sit on you!"

"You kind of already are."

"Do you want to hitch hike home? Or do you want me to call Scott, get us a lift back into town, and you can come sit in a nice hot bath with me?"

Derek's eyes go wide, eyebrows shooting up, "That, uh," he coughs, cheeks regaining some of their color, "The second one."

"Well, alright," Stiles digs into his pocket for his phone, wipes drying blood on his jeans as he does so. "Gross. You owe me new jeans."

"Why am I paying for them?"

"You're the one that couldn't drive stick."

"It was snowing! You said yourself I can't control nature."

"Look, the quicker you buy me new jeans, the quicker we can live out one of my ultimate movie fantasies where I model a shit load of awful clothes and you hold up signs saying yes and no and—"

Derek rolls his eyes.

"—And then I blow you in the dressing room."

Derek's fingers tighten against Stiles' hips, and he juts his chin, implies that Stiles should get closer. Stiles stops just as their lips brush, smirks.

"You're going to be the death of me," Derek complains.

"Hey, if the car crash in the snow didn't get us, I reckon we're pretty damn invincible."

"I reckon so, too," Derek murmurs, looks up to meet his eye intently, his expression saying a myriad of things that make Stiles' heart swoop excitedly.

Stiles smiles brightly at him, winces at his split lip, and whips out his cellphone, dialing a number quickly. "Oh, hey, Scotty, so— yeah, we're sort of on the date? We just need a quick lift..."

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><p><em>Okay so that was story number two...another Sterek Fanfiction, so yeah. <em>

_(Can you tell I'm obsessed with them? Heh...) _

_ANYWAYS._

_More coming soon, AFTER I update my other stories...Its been like forever. Seriously._

_-BookBearer_


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